The Knight
"OWAIN!"
Harry turned sharply to where the shriek had emanated from and saw the downed figure on the ground. The rest of Owain's men reached him before Harry, and as he did, his heart sunk into his stomach.
Protruding from his back was a large, ornately decorated axe.
Owain was lying face down in the dirt, unmoving, and seemingly not breathing.
"Don't touch it!" Harry commanded as Hook reached for the handle of the axe. "He will bleed out if you pull it, and there's no telling what damage will be done."
Hook swallowed deeply and nodded as Harry cautiously took a knee next to his friend.
Placing two fingers at the corner of neck, just below the jaw, he did his utmost to steady his own beating heart to feel for any sign that Owain was still with them.
"He's alive," Harry whispered, focusing on the weak but rhythmic thudding of the pulse against the tips of his fingers. "Bloody hell, he's alive."
"What do we do?" Hook asked.
Harry frowned before nodding to himself and setting to work.
Carving an outline around Owain's body with the tip of his wand, he transfigured the ground beneath him into a solid slab of stone.
"We need to get him inside. We must be able to see. Help me."
Doing his utmost not to disturb Owain, Harry levitated the stone and carefully made his way back towards Camelot, pondering just what could be done for the man.
He was no Healer, but he likely knew more than most.
Even Helga had not known what caused infections in wounds when he'd discussed it with her, and though Harry did not understand it himself entirely, he knew how to keep them clean to prevent such.
"Get back!" Hook barked as they reached the gates.
"Bloody hell." Arthur cursed. "Take him to the throne room. I will have my best…"
Harry cut him off with a sharp look.
"No one is to touch him besides me and anyone I personally say so. If anyone attempts to interfere, I will take their fucking head."
Arthur's eyes widened but he nodded his understanding.
"Do you know what you are doing?" Hook whispered as they entered the keep.
"No, but if he dies here, we may no longer be safe outside of Godric's Hollow."
Hook frowned.
"Then I will stand guard over him with my life," he vowed. "Do what you have to, Harry."
Harry released a deep breath as he set Owain on the ground before removing the section of his robes around the wound.
The axe was buried deeply in his spine and shoulder blade; the former of the two being most concerning.
Shaking his head, Harry knew he was out of his depth, but he tentatively began removing the handle of the axe so that only the head remained lodged in Owain's back.
"He's going to lose a lot of blood," Hook murmured. "The axe is the only thing preventing him from bleeding out."
"I know," Harry agreed, removing his trunk from within his robes and shaking his head. "We need him awake before we can do anything."
"Awake?" Hook gasped.
Harry nodded gravely.
"I need him to be able to drink these potions whilst I get it out, and he must be lucid. I need him to tell me what he is feeling."
Hook had paled considerably but he nodded his understanding before pointing his wand at Owain.
"Ennervate," he said reluctantly.
Harry would never forget the screams that escaped Owain when he woke, and even more so when he'd set about the task of removing the axe head from his back.
He'd passed out three times from the sheer agony he'd endured, and he'd been unconscious now for the better part of a day since the axe head had been pulled and the damage repaired as best as Harry could do.
A hideous scar was all that remained, and not even magic could rid the an of it.
Still, despite not being awake, Owain was alive, and harry took comfort in seeing the colour returning to his flesh with each passing hour.
"How is he?" Arthur asked tentatively as he entered the room.
Harry shrugged in response.
"I think he will live."
"Good," Arthur declared, breathing a sigh of relief. "Despite us not being allies in a way I would prefer, I would not wish him harm. He's a good man and he deserves to live."
Harry chuckled humourlessly.
"You would think that meant something, but in the world I know, those who deserve to live often die. I have seen it for myself all too often, and those that deserve death somehow evade it. It's strange, isn't it? You put your faith in your god and he seems to only punish those undeserving of his wrath."
Arthur nodded thoughtfully.
"I can see why it would seem that way," he mused aloud, "but I have seen good things come from prayer and belief, Harry. I have no intention of forcing my beliefs on any. My faith is strong enough that I have no need to defend it or hurt others because they think differently to me. The same cannot be said for others, but I am not thinking of them right now. I will be spending the next days burying those who fell and offering sincere words promising to care for those left without husbands and sons who fought and died here."
Harry snorted.
"You know, you might be too damn nice to be king," he sighed. "I suppose I was like you once. I was a noble fool."
"What changed?"
"I realised what the world truly is," Harry answered candidly. "You will see it for yourself the more you travel, but I do not want you to take my words as a criticism. Maybe Britain needs a man like you to lead it. Just don't be so foolish to trust all around you. As man with such power, the very worst kind of people will flock to you, want to use you, and even abuse your friendship."
"I know," Arthur murmured. "Believe me, Harry, I am not as blind as I might seem. I know all too well what happens in my keep and beyond."
"Then you'd best keep your eyes and ears open just a little more," Harry suggested. I am neither your friend nor your enemy."
"And yet, I find that I trust you as a man," Arthur returned. "You do not strike me as someone who would slip a blade in my back when I wasn't prepared. Why do you think I am comfortable enough to be here alone with you when we both know you could kill me with ease?"
"Because you're bloody stupid," Harry chuckled amusedly.
Arthur laughed too and clapped him on the shoulder.
"I owe you, Owain, and the others a great debt, regardless of what agreement you made with Myrddin. Without you, I do not believe for one second I would still be here now. I don't forget my debts, Harry, nor will I forget that you were the one fighting by my side when it mattered up there. If there is ever anything you need, just ask."
He offered his hand and Harry only hesitated for a moment before shaking it.
"The same goes for you," he replied. "One day, you may find yourself in a difficult position you cannot get out of so easily. Before we leave, I will ensure you have a way to reach me."
Arthur nodded appreciatively.
"When the clean-up is done, I will hold a victory feast. I would like for you to be there, all of you. You all more than earned your place at my table last night."
He left and Harry returned to his vigil, urging Owain to wake.
A message had been sent to Ignotus explaining what had happened, but for now, Harry had decided against informing Anwen. She would undoubtedly be furious with him, but he would rather that than have her climbing the walls with worry until such a thing became necessary.
For now, all that mattered was that Owain woke up, and that was all Harry was focused on as he continued to watch the man through bleary eyes.
(Break)
Everything was coloured a muted grey, and though Owain had not spent much time here, he knew exactly where he was. Only a short distance away was Camelot, but the castle was in one piece and the dead no longer littered the ground.
Unless he'd been there and witnessed it for himself, he would never have guessed this had been the scene of a great battle.
"My legs," Owain murmured.
He was standing rooted to the spot, but he couldn't move.
His legs were numb for the most part, save for an almost burning tingle running up and down the length of them.
What was more concerning, however, was the ominous figure watching him closely from afar.
It hadn't moved since he'd arrived, though that changed as Owain's gaze had come to rest upon it, and the cloaked figure slowly drifted towards him, bringing an unnatural cold in its wake.
Owain shuddered as he fought to move away.
The figure had been there, watching and waiting as he'd struggled to keep his eyes upon after he'd been struck in the back with the enormous axe.
It couldn't touch him there, but here, Owain had no doubt this was Death's domain.
'Peverell…'
His name seemed to be whispered to him on the wind, and the glee in the tone was enough to make Owain shudder.
Oddly, however, he wasn't scared.
Death had never been something he'd feared until he'd held his son in his arms.
Aeron.
He could not allow Death to take him now, not when his son needed him so.
Despite that prevalent thought, Owain was powerless, and as the figure continued to approach him with a translucent hand extended, he could only close his eyes and wait for the cold grip to close around him.
'Come on, wake up, you bastard…'
Owain's eyes shot open as he heard the second voice, and even the cloaked figure stopped.
"Owain! Come on, you need to stay with me…'
He turned to where the voice had come from before looking back at the figure once more.
'No,' Owain whispered. 'You can't have me yet!'
The figure lunged towards in a desperate bid to seize Owain, but it was another hand that reached him first, and Owain breathed a deep sigh of relief as he was pulled from the flailing hand of Death into a place much warmer and welcoming.
(Break)
She had been flying in her dream again, though this time, she had not felt as though she was in control of the motion or direction she was going. In a way, it had seemed that she was being dragged through the sky, that something else was leading her along of path she could do nothing to deviate from.
The falling had been much worse.
Although Morgana had felt little control in flight, the safety of being pulled vanished quickly as she plunged into the depths below.
What was more terrifying was the fire that erupted beneath her, but once more, she found herself in the air, frantically beating her wings as she climbed away from the flames.
It had been a sudden, sharp pain in the back of her shoulder that had woken her, and for a moment, Morgana had been confused as to what had happened.
Harry.
It hadn't been a dream at all, but before she could panic about what may or may not have happened, his ethereal crow had arrived to reassure her that he was well.
Nonetheless, Morgana could not shake the feeling that something wasn't right.
Whatever had been pulling her through the sky had been dangerous, much larger than her, and had every intention of killing her the very first chance it got.
For a foolish second, she had thought that it was perhaps a dragon, but no fool would allow themselves to be caught in flight with such a creature.
Except for Harry.
He had outflown a dragon on a broom, but that didn't mean he would do so as a crow.
Morgana shook her head.
That was exactly what it meant.
Harry was just that stupid enough to do such a thing, and though she already strongly suspected the truth of the matter, she would wait to hear it for herself in his own words.
Regardless, he knew that he was in trouble with her.
She could feel his concern and it brought a knowing smirk to her lips.
If Morgana chose to, she could go to him now and put him out of his misery, but there was little fun to be had in such an immediate resolution. No, she would allow him to sweat, allow him to wonder just how angry she was with him.
In truth, she wasn't, not really.
She was terrified by whatever foolish escapade he had embarked on, but she expected nothing less from Harry by now.
He was a damned fool, much braver than any had the right to be, but he was her brave fool.
Perhaps she would give him an insincerely stern talking to for the sake of aesthetics, but Morgana knew her heart wouldn't be in it.
Once more, she was merely relieved that Harry was okay after another one of his damned noble quests.
In many ways, Morgana did not understand how he could be the way he was.
Perhaps she couldn't fathom being so selfless when all she'd known was the need to survive at all costs, but then again, so had Harry.
Maybe he was just a much better person than she could profess to be, but neither explanation truly mattered to her.
He was her Harry, and despite his nobleness and penchant for finding himself in trouble more often than most, she wouldn't have him any other way.
"Ah, so you haven't moved on yet," Salazar said amusedly as he entered the clearing. "I expect you have an idea what transpired last night in Wales."
"Not really," Morgana sighed. "My dream was somewhat revealing, but not so much that I know anything of worth."
Salazar quirked an eyebrow at her in response.
"Then I will leave it for Harry to explain," he chuckled. "He is fine, considering what happened."
Morgana narrowed her yes at him.
She knew the man would give nothing away, so she wouldn't waste her time pressing for information.
"So, you only came here to annoy me?" she asked.
"Only partly," Salazar corrected. "I came to inform you that everything is ready for when Harry returns."
"That's assuming I will still want to marry him when I found out what has happened."
Salazar grinned.
"I expect it will make you want to marry him more."
Morgana hummed as she shook her head.
"He's really okay?"
"He is," Salazar assured her. "I have it on good authority that not only is he well, but that he is also quite the hero. He saved many lives last night."
"Of course he did," Morgana sighed. "You know, I never thought I'd end up with someone like Harry."
"Did you ever think you would end up with anyone?"
"No," Morgana answered. "That just shows how much the damned idiot means to me, doesn't it?"
Salazar offered her a smile as he nodded.
"I expect he will be back soon enough. You know he can't keep his distance after something happens. He will want to see you as soon as he can."
"And then he can marry me."
"And then he can marry you," Salazar agreed.
(Break)
"I'm not dead then."
Owain's voice startled Harry from his thoughts.
"No," he answered, "but it was damned close."
Owain nodded and released a deep breath, taking a moment to ponder how he felt.
The fatigue was the first thing that came to mind, and the tightness and dull ache radiating through his back. Thankfully, he was lying on his front.
"How do you feel?" Harry asked worriedly.
"I don't know," Owain murmured. "My back is sore, and so is my throat from all the screaming."
"You did that a lot."
"Up yours," Owain chuckled, coughing and groaning in pain as his back was pulled taut. "How about I stick an axe in your back?"
"You're always welcome to try."
Owain shook his head and frowned.
"Harry, my legs are tingling."
"That's a good thing."
"Is it?"
"It means that you're not bloody paralysed. It might take a while for them to get back to normal, but either way, you're still alive and can raise your boy."
Owain swallowed a lump that formed in his throat.
"If something would've happened…"
"Then I would've looked after them both," Harry assured him. "They would be taken care of."
Owain nodded appreciatively.
"I know," he whispered. "Thank you, Harry, for saving my life."
"If only I was better at healing, it might not have hurt so much."
"You would've made it hurt anyway."
"Maybe," Harry agreed, "but you would've done the same for me."
"I would, and now I owe you something I can never repay."
Harry shook his head.
"You don't owe me a thing, not when I didn't do anything you wouldn't if it had been me lying there. Now shut up. I've not slept yet, and I need to tend to my own wounds before I do. Don't worry, I won't leave you."
"You really don't trust anyone here, do you?"
"No," Harry answered. "We may have fought with them for now, but they might wound up being our enemies in the future."
"Arthur wouldn't."
"No, but sometimes Arthur is too naïve for his own good. There are others with him I trust less than the man who murdered my parents. One day, I will find myself at odds with them, and when that day comes, the agreement we made will mean nothing."
"We, Harry," Owain corrected. "We will find ourselves at odds with them."
Harry shook his head.
"Just get some rest, and don't bloody well die in your sleep. Anwen is already going to kick my arse. I don't need her to give me another reason to do it harder."
Owain chuckled and winced once more.
"What about your wife? You can't keep this from her."
"Oh, Morgana will give me a piece of her mind, but I think she's getting used to this now. Maybe she will take it easy on me considering I was only wounded slightly."
"You jumped on the back of a flying dragon to kill it."
"Well, when you say it like that it sounds like a terrible idea."
"It was maybe the stupidest idea I've ever witnessed put into action," Owain returned thoughtfully. "Still, it worked out well enough. How did you kill it?"
Harry shook his head.
"I rammed my wand in its ear and used a few blasting curses to scramble its brains. It turns out when you get past the armoured flesh, they're not so immune to magic."
Owain could only shake his head.
Harry was insane in his own way, but somehow, it worked for him.
"Can I be there when you explain to Morgana what happened? I need to se her reaction to this one."
"See, now you've made me doubt myself," Harry huffed. "Thanks for that."
"I'm just making sure you're prepared for her wrath. She might just lock you up in the house and never let you leave."
"We can only hope," Harry sighed as he laid down on the floor. "Now, shut up, you git. I need to dream of all the horrible ways my wife is going to kick my arse."
"And mine," Owain pointed out. "Anwen can be a handful if you upset her."
"I'll find a way of blaming you," Harry vowed before his eyes finally closed.
He was asleep in seconds and Owain released a deep breath.
He'd almost died and had barely escaped Death's grasp.
Harry likely didn't know how close it had been, but Owain wouldn't forget. Were it not for his decisive thinking, he knew he wouldn't be here now, and Death would've claimed another Peverell soul.
(Break)
Myrddin and the other magicals from Owain's group had been working tirelessly to repair the castle, and though they had done an admirable job, the scorch marks left behind by the dragon on the stonework was something that was now a permanent fixture of Camelot, standing as a lasting reminder of what had happened here.
Arthur would certainly never forget what he'd witnessed, nor how close to dying he had been.
Were it not for Harry, Arthur believed he and many more others would've died the previous night.
More than three hundred had lost their lives in the battle, but Cnut had lost considerably more.
At least two thousand were still being cleared from the battlefield, and hundreds of others who'd scrambled over the battlefield had joined them in the afterlife.
In hindsight, it had been little more than almost a desperate charge by Cnut after the dragon had fallen.
A good military commander would've taken the small victory of damaging the castle and taking down some of his enemies before retreating, but Cnut had decided to press, and ultimately ended up much worse off.
Even so, Arthur doubted it would be the last he saw of the Dane.
Men like Cnut did not simply fade into the shadows never to return. No, he would be back one day, and though his force would unlikely be so sizable, he would certainly be more careful.
Still, that was a problem for another day.
Harry had given Arthur much to consider, and even though he couldn't be so sure why he trusted the man so, he could not rid himself of thoughts of deception and those inevitably coming in the future.
Arthur shook his head as his gaze swept across the damaged stone.
There was quite the burden to the crown he wore, and the more successful his campaign proved to be, the heavier it would become.
"Preparations are being made for the feast," Tristan informed him.
Arthur nodded.
"Did you manage to find your father?"
Mark had been noticeably absent before the battle, and Arthur had not seen him during.
"He returned this morning," Tristan huffed. "He says that he was checking on a friend and did not know of the attack until after."
Arthur frowned at the explanation.
Mark had known how dangerous and foolish it was to venture out of Camelot.
There had been no telling where Cnut and his forces were, and yet, the man had done so anyway.
Deception…
Arthur's frown deepened as the word immediately came to mind.
"What is it?" Tristan asked.
"Nothing," Arthur denied. "Anything else?"
"Owain Peverell woke up. That's what I came to tell you."
"Is he well?"
Tristan shrugged.
"The Crow won't let anyone near him."
"Can you blame him?" Arthur sighed. "He is loyal to Owain. We may have been allies for the fight against Cnut, but that is as far as our alliance will go."
"Do you not think they would be useful to have around?"
"I do," Arthur assured Tristan, "but that is not my decision. I have every intention of respecting their wishes. You saw what they did for us. I will not go back on the word I gave. They will be allowed to leave here in peace and with my utmost gratitude."
Tristan nodded his understanding.
"So, we will be on our own when we move out to campaign?"
"I expect so," Arthur murmured.
Tristan shook his head.
"Maybe it is for the best?"
"Why do you say that?"
"Because what they can do, Arthur, is damned terrifying. Harry took a dragon out of the sky, a fucking dragon! Between Owain and his men, they killed for than our entire force combined. Some of the men are scared, Arthur. They are scared of what they can do, and I can't say I blame them. If they decided to turn against us…"
He broke off and shot Arthur a pointed look, and the king shook his head.
"They won't," he said with certainty.
"What makes you so sure? What if they decide they want power for themselves? How could we hope to defeat them?"
"Tristan, they just want to be left alone," Arthur reminded him. "Myrddin had to go to them to all but beg for their assistance. They just want to go home, that's it."
Tristan nodded.
"I know, but others don't and won't believe it. These druids are not like us, and if they took exception to us…"
He left the sentence unfinished as he headed back inside the keep.
Tristan was right.
Arthur was not foolish to believe that any army of men could hope to defeat a much smaller group of men like Owain and Harry.
As much as he had come to respect them and was grateful for their help, he knew that there were others who were not like them, others that would relish the opportunity to take control of Britain.
Why that had not happened, Arthur didn't know.
Perhaps he should ask Harry.
The man had always been candid with him, even if his words would get most others in trouble with the king.
Harry didn't care for such things.
He had only spoken honestly with Arthur, and he hoped he might just do so once more.
(Break)
"Aren't you going to fix your wound?" Owain asked. "You fell asleep before you could."
Harry frowned as he pulled apart his torn tunic; another that Morgana had lovingly made for him. As he did so, he noticed the skin had already mostly healed on its own, something he had not expected.
"Strange," he murmured, moving his arm to ensure it wasn't stiff or inhibited. "Did you fix it?"
"No," Owain snorted. "In case you haven't noticed, I've not moved. Speaking of which, I need to piss. Help me up."
"Fine," Harry replied, "but I'm not holding it for you."
Owain guffawed and grimaced in pain as Harry pulled him to his feet.
He stumbled more than once, but eventually managed to lean on the wall for support.
"Legs still tingling?"
Owain nodded.
"It's making it hard to walk."
"Then we will have to build a wheelchair for you."
"A what?"
Harry waved him off before breaking a nearby table.
It wasn't as though Arthur would miss the thing. Besides, it would serve a better purpose now.
With a few waves of his wand, he managed to create something resembling a wheelchair, and as Owain turned back towards him, he looked horrified by the very thought of sitting in it.
"I'm not being pushed around like a damned infant."
"Good, because I'm not pushing you," Harry replied with a shrug. "You can wheel yourself until you feel better."
Owain scowled at him, and Harry did his utmost to hide his amusement, though he evidently failed.
Owain cursed under his breath as he lowered himself into the contraption and frowned as he began moving it in circles.
"I suppose it is comfortable enough," he grumbled. "Don't laugh!"
"I'm really trying not to," Harry assured him, "but I can't help it. You look quite comical in that chair. Say Come Death, come."
"Shut up," Owain huffed, a ghost of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "I won't be in this forever, and when I get out, I'm going to ram my boot up your arse."
"That's some gratitude," Harry sighed. "Come on, do you think we should get you some fresh air?"
Owain nodded.
"How am I going to get down the stairs in this thing?"
"I suppose I'll have to bloody levitate you down, won't I?"
Owain grinned and Harry muttered irritably under his breath.
"I'm taking you home to Anwen as soon as I can. She can look after you."
"And she's much prettier to look at."
Harry said nothing else as he held the door open for Owain.
He was pleased to see the man in good spirits, despite all that had happened over the past couple of days.
Still, he was keen to leave Camelot sooner rather than later.
The fighting with the Danes was done, for the time being at least, and there were other things that required his attention, one of them being the man who whispered in Arthur's ear, and who Harry would inevitably have to kill if he wished to live a life of peace when the fighting was over.
"Ready?" he asked as they neared the first of the staircases.
"Don't drop me."
"Would I do that?"
"Yes."
Harry chuckled amusedly as he levitated Owain carefully down the staircase, and then two more before they reached the ground floor.
"A feast?" Owain asked as the sound of festivities sounding from within the hall reached them.
"It's expected, isn't it? A victory is always followed by a feast."
"I suppose that is true."
"Then you also know that you are expected to attend."
Owain frowned unhappily.
"After we've gotten some fresh air," he sighed. "Get a message to Hook. Tell him we leave in the morning and that they should all pack. And, Harry, tell him to lay off the wine."
Harry made a point of pushing Owain outside, and the man took a deep breath of fresh air.
"You know, you don't appreciate the simple things in life until you almost lose it. The air is thick in Wales, Harry. I won't take it for granted again."
"I know," Harry assured him. "I stopped taking the small things for granted long ago."
"Did you see him?"
"See who?"
"Death."
"I'm not sure," Harry answered honestly. "I don't remember from when I was a babe, and the last time I should've died, I wasn't looking for him. Maybe he was there, or maybe he knew it wasn't my time," he added thoughtfully.
Owain nodded.
"I think this was supposed to be my time," he whispered. "He made a grab for me, but you pulled me away."
"Then it wasn't your time," Harry replied with a shrug. "If it was, you wouldn't be here. I expect he may have just wanted to scare you, to remind you of what you have worth living for."
"Maybe," Owain conceded. "Maybe."
(Break)
Despite the feast supposedly being a celebration, there seemed to be little joy in the great hall of Camelot, and not even Arthur felt particularly festive. Of course, those within the keep had gathered to eat and drink with one another, but there was no dancing, and little merriment to be seen.
"There is little good that comes from what, not even in our moments of victory," Myrddin observed.
Arthur nodded his agreement.
"Is it always like this?"
"It depends on the victory and losses," Myrddin answered thoughtfully. "A good king knows that to gain you must also lose, but you must hope that your gains outweigh the losses. Take the victory for what it is, Arthur. This one is sombre but others will be cause for a true celebration."
"Then why did we gather like this?"
"To honour those that fell, and those that are still here. This feast is not for you, but for those you lead. They would be most offended to see you indulging in the very best this moment has to offer, but they are seeing you humble and sharing the pain of their loss. It is equally as important to be human as it is a powerful figure in their lives."
Arthur nodded and stood as he spotted Harry and Owain entering the great hall, with the latter being pushed in a chair of sorts adorned with large wheels.
Owain offered Arthur a nod of acknowledgement, and those within the room began murmuring amongst themselves.
"Harry Potter," he called. "Please, come forward."
He seemed hesitant to do so, but with a shove of encouragement from Owain, he eventually obliged and Arthur stood before him.
"Instead of relishing a victory as each of us hoped, we find ourselves in mourning for those we lost, but there is no man in this room that can deny they would have been more substantial without your deeds during the battle. I know this will mean little to you, Harry, but to all of us here, it is the highest of honours."
He drew Excalibur from the scabbard on his belt before resting the flat of the blade on Harry's left shoulder.
"You have no loyalty to me or my people, but you assisted us greatly in a time of need, and that will not be forgotten. I will not ask you to kneel before me, only that you accept the honour I am to bestow upon you. We may not be allies any longer after tonight, but I want you to understand that my friendship and my gratitude is yours. You comported yourself with courage and valour, saving the lives of many of us in this very room, even mine as we fought shoulder to shoulder with our swords in hand. As such, I would name you Sir Harry Potter of Godric's Hollow, an honorary knight of my round table, and I consider you a friend, from this day until my last."
He removed the sword from Harry's shoulder and replace it back within the scabbard before offering his hand, which Harry accepted with a firm shake.
Despite the sombre mood within the hall, those gathered applauded the man who'd more than earned their adulation, and Arthur leaned in.
"I would like to speak with you before you leave," he murmured. "I have no intention of asking anything from you other than information you might share with me."
Harry nodded before returning to the grinning Owain Peverell, and Arthur made his way back towards his table.
"Do you believe that was wise?" Myrddin asked with a frown.
"I do," Arthur replied with a nod. "Somehow, I believe that is one of the wisest things I have done as king."
Myrddin did not seem convinced, but Arthur was.
Perhaps they were not now nor ever would be allies, but Arthur had a feeling about Harry Potter he simply could not ignore, and he'd felt almost compelled to make the gesture he had.
Maybe it would come to nothing, but Arthur did not believe so.
Someday, he and Harry would meet again, and he was certain he would be pleased for doing what he had.
Why that was remained to be seen, but Arthur had followed his instincts, and having done so, he felt a wave of relief wash over him.
(Break)
"Don't say anything," Harry warned as he reached the grinning Owain. "I will tip you out of that chair."
"Such a nice way to talk to a man unable to defend himself."
Harry hummed.
"You're not as helpless as you'd have people believe," Harry huffed. "Are we sticking around?"
Owain shook his head.
"I'm depressed enough without being here."
"Good," Harry said, relieved.
"Why are you so eager to leave?" Owain asked.
"Because once I've dropped you home, I'm going to see my wife. I think it is best an explanation comes from me rather than anyone else. You know how these things get sensationalised."
"You climbed atop a flying dragon before pulling it from the sky and helped fight off thousands of Danes. How do you plan on making that sound any less than it is, Sir Harry?"
Harry narrowed his eyes at Owain.
"I really will tip you out of that chair," he warned, shaking his head as the man laughed all the way out of the castle.